Phantoms of the Present
by Archon of Darkness
Summary: Many things are needed to start a war. Mistakes are made. Alliances are broken. And, most of all...enemies are underestimated.
1. Introduction

_A/N: Hello people, readers, reviewers, commenters from the peanut gallery, etc, etc._

_...Ok, before anyone asks, I am aware that an awful lot of stories have been disappearing from my profile lately. The truth is, my writing has been fraught with problems lately, from my own mistakes with stories to having my flash drive stolen. My beta reader (Mark Ryan) has really helped with the first one, but he seems to be AWOL at the moment. So this story will be written without a beta reader, so it won't be quite as good as my other currently going stories, but don't expect it to be horrible. I REFUSE to let this turn into a certain other failed war fic of mine._

_As always, reviews, suggestions, and questions are welcome._

_Now, without further ado..._

Phantoms of the Present

Introduction

For the longest time, the Republic believed itself to be a sovereign nation, the top of the food chain. They never suspected that this would be disproved by a far smaller interstellar nation.

They began to get an inkling when they discovered that they knew less about the galaxy than they thought.

In the midst of the Clone Wars, a Republic cruiser was damaged as it entered hyperspace. The vessel flew far off course, and into the unknown regions of space...

...and into the Koprulu Sector.

The Sector was not the same as it had been 25 years earlier. To understand how the meeting went so differently than it would have during the Second Great War, or even the Brood War, one would have to look at its history.

For one, the Second Great War was long over, as was the long struggle between Raynor's Raiders and the Terran Dominion. Emperor Mengsk's precious Dominion was already burning to ashes around him once evidence surfaced that he had ordered the massacre on Tarsonis. The dissolution of Mengsk's propaganda with the salvation of the Queen of Blades was the final nail in the coffin, from the political standpoint.

Militarily, the Dominion did not fall for nearly two years. It fell to pieces with the start of the Hybrid War. With all of the turmoil going on within the former empire, the Dominion could not even mount a proper defense of the core worlds. Korhal itself was taken within weeks, and the Emperor was forced to flee. For the second time, Korhal was burned to ashes by an orbiting fleet, though this fleet consisted of pseudo Xel'naga ships instead of battlecruisers.

The remaining worlds of the shattered Dominion, as well as the remnants of the Kel-morian Combine and the Umojan Protectorate, looked to James Raynor for salvation.

And he delivered.

At each of the planets in need, Raynor's Raiders appeared in a sight that had never been seen before, and has never been seen since.

He came with Protoss ships and Zerg swarms in tow, both as allies.

The Hybrids, powerful as they were, and relatively numerous as they were, could not stand against the combined might of three races. Terran ingenuity and wit, Protoss power, and Zerg adaptability joined together and pushed back each of the Hybrid fleets. They drove them back to the planet where the Dark Voice himself resided, Zhakul.

The library world died in a raging storm of lightning, fire, and blood. The fallen Xel'naga himself was slain by the Dark Prelate, Zeratul.

Surprisingly many survivors of all three races were left. It was up to them to pick up the pieces.

The Zerg did not stay for long. Kerrigan sent a cryptic message to the _Hyperion_, Raynor's flagship, (the contents of which are unknown to any who did not serve aboard that ship to this day) and fled. Every last living Zerg disappeared with her. It was a sad day indeed for the hunters on Mar Sara, as even the Zerg buried there vanished, with the only trace of their presence being discarded carapace and abandoned, buried dens. To this day, not an iota of Zerg activity has been seen in the Koprulu sector since that day.

The Protoss were truly diminished, with nearly 10% more of their population dead. With only 20% of their once vast empire still intact, they sought to return to their homeworld of Aiur, which had been abandoned by the Zerg.

The Protoss' sense of pride had been completely and utterly shattered by what had happened. A human had become the savior of their race, but their empire was in ruins and few of their people remained. What was left of their race had nothing left but broken spirits.

The Terrans were little better off. All three of the Koprulu sector's nations had fallen, not that they were really missed. The Kel-morians and Dominion had been especially cruel to their citizens.

Many looked for an answer from Raynor himself, but none came. Instead, the captain of his flagship, Matthew Horner, stepped forward. At a convention of ambassadors from nearly every major planet in the sector, he proposed the formation of a single, overarching republic of planets, the United Systems. It would be ruled, not by a single person, but by the people. Though a President would lead the nation, he would be chosen by the people, and his power would be limited by the Interplanetary Senate, which, in turn, was made up of elected officials from each of the System worlds. In honor of the lives lost in the first Great War, the planet Tarsonis was chosen as the capital of the new nation. Korhal, on the other hand, became what Tarsonis had once been. No resettlement operation was undertaken. Instead, only salvaging operations found there way there. A statue of some of the Raiders' senior commanders was made from the cannibalized scrap of the former Emperor Mengsk's palace. It stands in front of the Senate building in New Gettysburg, the capital of Tarsonis and, by extension, the entire United Systems.

The Hybrid War had changed both the Terrans and the Protoss. They had all fought alongside each other, even died alongside each other. Each now had respect for the abilities of the other. The Terrans lended what aid they could to Aiur's people. The Protoss, in turn, accepted the help, something none of them had ever done (or needed to have done) before.

This was the world that the Republic cruiser dropped into.

As far as first contacts go, it could have been much worse. The stable US government was prepared for first contact situations. They immediately offered their help to the clones.

Needless to say, they were shocked and awestruck when told the scale and scope of the Republic. A nation that ruled nearly half of the galaxy was, at the very least, surprising, as was the density of habitable planets there.

The Koprulu sector had many star systems within it. But only a relative handful of these were either habitable or within the parameters of terraniformation. The Republic was already bigger than the entire sector, and it seemed that every other star system held a planet with its own indigenous species. The clones and commanders aboard the cruiser were shocked at the apparent utter lack of species besides humans in the Koprulu sector. Citing security issues, particularly with the now endangered Protoss, the Zerg, and Protoss were not revealed. Nor was Earth stated to be humanity's homeworld or the UED mentioned.

Other facts about the newly discovered nation, however, left a sour taste in the US' collective mouth. One of these was its government system.

After the contact, the two nations began to learn more about each other. It was soon learned that the Republic was anything but what it was named for. Sure, its main governmental body was the Senate, but the government had the power to do essentially anything it wanted, so long as its senators agreed. The opinions of anyone not involved in government were completely irrelevant. The United Systems hoped to find a worthy cause in the CIS, but were only partially successful. While the base of the Independent Systems was indeed like that of the Raynor's Raiders back in the day, the leadership could not care less about the freedom of its people.

With this in mind, the US tentatively offered help against the CIS forces. The partnership led to more discoveries between the two nations.

The first was how vastly different their ways of war were.

The US military was a laughingstock at the start of the conflict. Their ships, though impressively armored, had no true shielding. The defensive matrix used by battlecruisers could only be online for minutes at a time before the power drain became too great. Their laser weapons were unable to reach their full potential as well. Even the adjutants used in all military installations could not activate their full potential for fear of overloading. In fact, the entire Terran military was fraught with a single flaw.

Insufficient power generation.

Even the mighty Titan reactor, for which the later introduced Titan-class battlecruiser was named, could not power a matrix for the duration of a battle or constantly fire a Yamato cannon. Nor could Wraith fighters or Banshees stay cloaked indefinately.

As it turns out, however, the Terrans had the last laugh when an expeditionary force of only six Behemoth-class battlecruisers and a complement of Spirits (see US military info below) were able to completely annihilate a CIS fleet more than three times its size. Planetside, the US Marines, who had been grossly underestimated due to their clunky, primitive looks, took out entire platoons of droids with few or no losses.

The introduction of the Terrans to the galactic stage posed a severe threat to another faction in the Republic...the Sith.

Chancellor Palpatine became increasingly worried as the war went on. True, he did not want the CIS to win, but their being destroyed outright would ruin his plans. At the same time, he would blow his cover if he conveyed any zealous dislike of the United Systems.

At last, Palpatine received a break.

During a raid on a CIS weapons plant, a squad of prototype droid commandos attacked the invading force. The commandos were much like the model currently used, but possessed an experimental cloaking system, used equally experimental high powered railguns, and were built on a black chassis. Despite this, the raid was successful, as the clones even discovered the plans for a devastating superweapon, the specifics of which are highly classified.

However, many soldiers noted the uncanny resemblance between the commandos and rarely seen US Spectre operatives. Truthfully, the design similarities were only coincidental. The CIS merely used a similar build because of universal pluses to it. The black was simply due to the fact that it was the base color of the metal, they had not been painted because of their experimental status. Nonetheless, Palpatine was able to spin it into suspicion towards the United Systems, though they predictably denied having anything to do with the separatists.

The final straw came, however, when the Sith began outright sharing information. It was a great risk, but the failure of his plan, a long running one at that, was a greater one. He began subtly leading the CIS to attack outposts that US ships had recently left, or had recently received information about. The Chancellor was never suspected.

Meanwhile, despite the United Systems once again denying involvement, the Republic cut their ties with the Terran nation and declared war on them, believing that they were in league with the separatists.

In truth, the Terrans were very much confused as to the situation, but they kept up hostilities with any and all CIS forces. Palpatine's gamble had come too little, too late. Beginning to see everything crumble around him, Darth Sideous took one last, desperate chance, trying to win over Jedi Knight, Anakin Skywalker.

In a different case, the plan would have worked. But the Chancellor did not have the luxury of waiting for his "capture" and beginning to put Anakin in a state of emotional turmoil. The gamble failed miserably. It was not long before the young jedi reported his thoughts on Palpatine being a Sith. Soon Jedi Master Windu and other masters came to arrest the Chancellor. Though he was able to kill two of them, the Sith was overwhelmed by Windu. Palpatine tried to kill the Jedi Master with force lightning, but the deadly force was merely reflected back at him. The Sith was fried in a wave of his own energy. Though Skywalker had planned on accompanying Windu despite being told to do otherwise, he decided not to due to a crisis emerging elsewhere with an attack by a dying and desperate CIS fleet on Coruscant, as well as urging by his Padawan, Ashoka Tano.

With the would-be Emperor's death, any hope of a CIS victory died as well. Even with the Republic and United Systems at war with each other, neither halted hostilities against them. Soon, little was left but the Nemoidian worlds, the sole holdout left in the former Confederacy of Independent Systems.

With the startling revelation that the Chancellor had been a Sith, the Jedi realized that the leaks of information had come from him, not from the Terrans, who they had believed to sympathize with the CIS, with them being rebels. The Senate, though, was another story. Few of them believed that Palpatine was capable of distributing information on that scale, despite his being a Sith.

However, the strength of the United Systems could not be denied. Strings of victories forced the Republic to offer a cease-fire, which the US eventually accepted. However, the Republic had lost several worlds to the Terrans, all of which they held after the cease-fire. The Republic was now fighting an enemy that had successfully carved its sphere of influence into them. Having their worlds under another nation's control did not sit well with the Republic.

It was only a matter of time before the thread snapped, as everyone knew.

* * *

_A/N: In keeping with what I normally do, here is some changes that have been done in the 25 year lapse between Starcraft 2 and this story to the Terran military._

Infantry-

Marines- The United Systems government soon realized that many of the problems within it's military were caused by the simple fact that nearly 80% of their soldiers were convicted killers, or guilty of other crimes. It had been assumed by the Confederates and Dominion that threatening military service would reduce crime. However, they did not realize just how far from the truth it was. To some criminals, it was a bonus: kill a man, and get "sentenced" to kill people and aliens all the time...and get paid for it. It was decided that harsher penalties would be reinstated, while military service (except in emergency drafts) was limited to those with, at most, minor records, while those with a clear slate were given bonuses. For the first time, the Marine Corps began receiving volunteers that did not have to join. With this, crime was also drastically reduced on all System worlds, hitting two birds with one stone.

Firebats- The Firebat program was cancelled within weeks of the United Systems' formation. Not only were the occupants of these dangerous suits of armor in egregious violation of the new military policy regarding personnel with jail records, but the units themselves no longer had a use. The second generation CMC suits were heavily armored, but still were not equal to the armor and plasma shielding of Protoss zealots and Dark Templar. Nor could they be used against other Terrans, as a single Marauder could tear a Firebat apart before he got anywhere near enough to attack. They could not be used in urban warfare either, as the second generation armor was simply too bulky. Going back to the first generation armor was out of the question; the volatile chemicals used for the flame gauntlets were unforgivably exposed to enemy fire.

Marauders- Though called Firebat replacements by some, these troops are anything but that. Designed to deal with heavily armed threats, such as tanks, these troops are strong in every area that Firebats are weak in. The addition of concussion grenades, which stun many targets for a time with bright flashes and noise, further added to their usefulness. The new bio-steel armor that they use serves to increase survivability and weapon capacity as well. There are no current plans to replace Marauders.

Medics- Long considered a welcome sight by Terrans and their allies, Medics proved irreplaceable in combat, even with the addition of built-in CMC medical systems and medical training becoming mandatory to all infantry units. However, newer medics are not distinguished as easily as before. They now wear full CMC armor on par with that of a Marine's, and carry a general issue Impaler gauss rifle.

Ghosts- The highly subversive Ghost program was cancelled and mothballed not long after the general US overhaul of the Terran military. Nearly all current operatives were known to be loyal to the remnant of the Dominion, and the past of lies and deceit was clear with the project, as was the high cost for psychics who could not even fully use their powers.

Spectres- Though there was some understandable unease about this offshoot of the Ghost program, it was found that Spectre operatives were quite preferable to Ghosts. Not only were their powers greater, but, despite what Ghosts often claimed, they were no more susceptible to violent outbursts than their more expensive brethren. Newly trained Spectres were even given some of the old Ghost equipment, such as EMP shells. Their eccentricism was easily cured with mild doses of schizophrenia drugs, a small price compared to their abilities.

Reapers- Though the Reaper training program was officially shut down with the new policy against convicts in the military, more than a few rumors have floated around that the US government merely classified it. Brief sightings of jump-pack equipped troops would seem to support this. However, it is known that all Reaper gear stopped being manufactured more than two decades ago, so it is likely that the new troopers are using more experimental technology.

Vehicles-

Vultures- though used quite successfully during the Dominion conflict by Raynor's Raiders, they proved to be, as one mechanic said, "flying death traps…even when nobody's shooting at ya." The United Systems quickly mothballed the Vulture bike, favoring instead the more durable and generally safer Hellion.

Hellions- Much favored over the "death trap" Vulture. Hellions have been upgraded with partially automated targeting systems, allowing them to fire on the move, as well as twin linked flamethrowers and thermite injectors. Though their uses have diminished with the removal of the Zerg threat, they are still considered excellent infantry killers and scouts. There are also civilian riot control variants that utilize water cannons instead of flamethrowers.

Linebreaker Siege Tank- Siege tanks have always been the backbone of the Terran army. While the aging Crucio has been replaced, another has stepped up to take its place. Sporting "smart shells" to reduce friendly fire and an upgraded twin-linked tank cannon when in tank mode, this new tank is much more formidable than the old Crucio, while still holding true to the Siege tank design.

Diamondback- Despite it's very old, Confederate era design, the Diamondback proved invaluable, as a quick reaction unit and acceptable replacement should siege tanks be unavailable. The United Systems continues production of it to this day. The new Diamondbacks are upgraded with gauss coils to augment their railgun arrays, further increasing their range and damage output beyond that of a Linebreaker in tank mode.

Goliath- For reasons unknown, the Terran Dominion labeled the Goliath support walker as out of date. This is most puzzling, as they claimed the reasons to be that it could not provide adequate air coverage. They replaced it instead with the much more expensive Viking, which, while effective at beating aircraft and was an adequate solution to the Valkyrie's vulnerability, could not target both air and ground targets at the same time unless it switched between fighter and assault modes. During this time, it was completely and utterly vulnerable. Thus it was decided to reinstate the Goliath as air defense for ground forces, as well as long range infantry suppression.

Thor- It was a much contested decision to continue production of this assault walker, as many saw it as too expensive for it's own good. However, the contention ended when it was decided to remove the walker's barrage cannons, replacing them with shorter range weapon systems. This, coupled with added armor, which is cheaper than barrage cannons, eliminated it's long range potential, but allowed it to soak up much more firepower and allow it's allies to move forward.

Odin- If there was contention on the Thor, its big brother was a political nightmare. But the sheer firepower of the Odin could not be denied. Eventually it was decided that they would enter limited production, and only be used when absolute firepower is needed. The addition of Immortality Protocol systems further added to the Odin's survivability, as did the addition of bio steel, which all US mechanical systems have been upgraded with. To reduce costs to manageable levels, the nuclear silo and rearming bay have been removed.

Aircraft-

Banshee- though an aging craft, no replacement has yet been found for the Banshee atmospheric gunship. However, upgrades such as the Cellular reactor enhance the gunship's role as a stealthy hard hitter.

Wraith- This fighter had been considered out of date even during the Dominion conflict, and was only used due to the lack of a better fighter. With the addition of its successor, the Spirit, to the United Systems' air force, the Wraith was immediately decommissioned, as it was too expensive for a light fighter, and its stealth systems proved useless against all but the lightest outposts. It did not possess the stealth detection gear to find and shoot down Protoss observers, it did not have the range to down Zerg Overseers before they were spotted, and its burst lasers did only negligible damage against heavily armored, ground based missile turrets. However, Spirits soon proved inefficient on their own. While they were more powerful than Wraiths, they were also many times more expensive, as well as less maneuverable. The fighter soon came under review by military officials and was reinstated without a stealth generator. Instead, a highly advanced disruption field was applied to it, which deflected the vast majority of missiles and wreaked havoc with enemy tracking systems and sensors.

Viking- Though the US believe that this fighter is by no means a replacement for the Goliath, it is the perfect escort vessel as its advanced missile systems can bypass most countermeasures. Goliaths and Diamondbacks on the ground cover its vulnerability to medium and close range craft, while more agile Spirits and powerful Battlecruisers take care of any in the air. It's ability to perform as a heavy assault mech in a pinch has proved more than useful. Newer Valhalla class Vikings also possess firing ports for their autocannons in fighter mode and carry multipurpose missiles for ground use, eliminating their weakness against short ranged fighters and long ranged ground units, though it must still be escorted to deal with medium range forces. Despite being easier to produce, the Viking still requires incredible skill to pilot, so there are comparatively few vehicles present on a given battlefield.

Science Vessel- In the strictest sense, this was never a combat craft, used only for rear line support and civilian exploration and scientific experiments. The vessel's nano-repair ability was made redundant with the application of bio-steel to all vehicles. The irradiation ability was soon made useless: the Zerg were no longer a threat, the Protoss began altering their shields to act as chemical barriers, and Terran armor seals were altered to be more effective against hazardous materials. The ability to use EMP and defensive matrix were both removed after the Brood War, given instead to the Ghost (now the Spectre) and battlecruisers respectively. The Science Vessel was soon relegated only to civilian tasks.

Raven- The autonomous Raven vehicle saw much action during the Dominion conflict and the Hybrid War, and came through with flying colors. It was very effective at defending choke points in a pinch with auto turrets, as well as supporting allies with point-defense drones and seeker missiles. The new research breakthroughs with Protoss technology by Raynor's Raiders served to greatly improve the ship's AI, allowing it to be more independent and improving reaction time. However, in present times, little use has been found for these support vessels. While they have not been decommissioned, production has been halted until further notice, and there are only reserve units, none are active.

Medivac Dropship- Briefly considered as a complete replacement for medics, the idea quickly fell out of favor. The dropships were quite time consuming to build, and it was more costly to train medics to fly it as well. Not only this, but military officials were less than impressed with the subpar medical facilities, which could just as easily cause a Marine's death as heal him. The medical abilities of the ship were removed, though significant engine upgrades were applied.

Ships-

Titan-class Battlecruiser- The backbone of the United Systems' fleet, the Titan is often compared to the old Minotaur-class, which it is a more advanced version of. Equipped with a Yamato cannon, anti-ship missiles, and a more effective defensive matrix system, the Titan is a force to be reckoned with. It is rather large, dwarfing the Minotaur, and reflects its role as a dedicated battleship. As such, its fighter bays are negligible, and do not even carry fighters, instead being meant for ship-to-ship transports and cargo ships. It is covered with multiple multipurpose ATA lasers (which can be used against ships or fighters), and six heavy anti-ship batteries.

Behemoth-class support cruiser- Named for the class of the famous Hyperion, the new Behemoth class is a lighter missile cruiser and an atmospheric support ship for the US. It only possesses a significant number of guns on the head section, making it vulnerable in close combat and flanking situations. However, it has a large compliment of fighters, numerous plasma torpedoes, a Yamato cannon, and missile pods for long range fighting. While smaller than the Titan, the Behemoth is also faster and more agile.

Mythos-class Carrier- Designed thanks to new knowledge of Protoss weapons systems. Completely devoid of ship-to-ship weapons (though it has point-defenses), this vessel relies on fighters to get the job done. It has large fighter bays that carry numerous Spirits, Vikings, and Bears, as well as a special weapon; air superiority fighters. These craft, constructed using new knowledge of robotics, are completely AI driven, and are equipped with burst lasers. Using a surprisingly efficient group AI, the fighters are given general orders by their parent ship, and the fighters do the rest. They are far more agile and numerous than Spirits, but suffer in terms of armor. However, fighters that are knocked out can quickly regenerate thanks to their bio-steel. The parent carrier immediately rebuilds those that are completely destroyed within minutes. Because these fighters are still more primitive than Protoss interceptors, they cannot stray too far from their carrier and can be cut off by signal jamming. If the latter happens, they immediately activate their full AI, gaining processing power but using up more battery power. This allows them to survive until control is re-established most of the time. In the case that it doesn't, the fighters immediately self-destruct when their battery gives out. The unusual tactics of this ship class allows a great amount of support in large battles.

Loki-class Battlecruiser- A massive battleship carrying a number of experimental technologies. Its main weapons are two forward facing Armageddon cannons, very powerful plasma weapons. It possesses a large number of missile pods, a powerful defensive matrix, bio-steel, and a small contingent of fighters, as well as numerous turrets. This ship is the epitome of Terran technology, stubbornness, and wit. They are, however, very expensive and few in number.

Ambassador-class Assault ship- Made to fill the void left by the old Behemoth-class as a dedicated atmospheric assault vessel. These battlecruisers carry a veritable army with them and possess an astonishing array of relatively small-bore weaponry, made for firing at swarms of targets present in atmospheric combat, both on the ground and in the air.

New Hardware-

Bear- it became apparent after the formation of the United Systems that the new military lacked a proper bomber for orbital operations. While the Banshee held its own in the atmosphere, it was incapable of space flight. Thus the Bear was born. This craft has a similar shape as the old Valkyrie, and serves as a heavy bomber/missile frigate. It is armed with multiple missile systems, plasma torpedoes, and a small number of anti-fighter turrets. Its shape maximizes its fighting abilities and armament capacity, but makes it about as aerodynamic as a brick, making it unable to fly in atmospheric conditions. While a bit small to be considered a full ship, it is still quite large and possesses its own warp drive, since it is too big to fit in a fighter bay.

Spirit- The descendant of the Wraith. While not equipped with the weak stealth systems of its forbear, the Spirit is a force to be reckoned with. Doing away with the Wraith's "y" design, which proved unwieldy in atmospheric combat, this new fighter has been said to resemble "a scorpion with its tail cut off." True to it, the Spirit has no pylon for an underslung burst laser, instead stowing them underneath the multimissile launchers on the wings and directly underneath the cockpit. The Spirit is both faster than and more heavily armored than the Wraith, easily making up for its lack of stealth. These fighters are used as escorts for Vikings and battlecruisers.


	2. Eye of the Storm

_A/N: This chapter'll be a shortie. But no worries. In the next chapter, the dakka will fly. In the meantime, this'll offer some time to become acquainted with the situation._

_Reviews, questions, and suggestions are welcome._

* * *

"_Fortune favors the bold._"

- Creed of the Valhalla Corps, the training program for Viking pilots based on the planet Valhalla.

Phantoms of the Present

Chapter 1

Eye of the Storm

Republic fleet en route to Shili

Flagship, Dusk Angel

Anakin was changed.

Of course, it was a subtle one. He was still the same 'ol reckless Anakin Skywalker...Yet, he no longer disregarded danger as easily anymore.

The United Systems had taught him that there is true danger in the galaxy.

He understood now that he had once believed himself (and the Republic) to be invincible. If not their hardware, than their leadership always won the battle in the end. But now...against these...Terrans. He had only fought a single battle against them. It had seemed to easy to retake the world from far away, what with how few ships the US had in the system. But those ships were not pushovers by any means. Even without shields, they made a Venator's armor look about as effective as wet paper in comparison.

Skywalker had been there for the first battle of Shili. No doubt the second would not go any better.

Anakin cringed as he looked through the windows of the _Dusk Angel_'s bridge, Admiral Yularen's old cruiser had been destroyed during the Clone Wars. This whole war was stupid! It should have ended long before this, if not with the cease fire. But that seemed to be only a temporary measure.

The jedi knight looked over to his padawan, Ashoka Tano. The young Togruta's face seemed set in stone, understandable considering that this fleet was heading to take back her homeworld.

This time, the Republic was pulling out all the stops.

A massive fleet was now en route to Shili; more than sixty ships. Acclamator-Is and IIs would form the bulk of the planetary assault force, while Venators were the backbone of the fleet (being the most numerous). The powerful Imperial-class destroyers would form the front line, and would hopefully be able to soak up some of the Terrans' firepower. Carried by all of the ships were hundreds of fighters, all readying themselves for launch as the fleet soared through hyperspace.

"Admiral," one of the clones announced. "We are nearing the planet."

Anakin saw his Padawan tense as Yularen acknowledged. He unwittingly tensed as well.

This was going to be one hell of a fight.

* * *

United Systems defense fleet

Flagship, Hyperion Dawn

Shili was on high alert.

Or, at least, the occupying Terran force was.

It still seemed weird to the Admiral. Ships in warp couldn't be detected like this, unless they were very close. But Republic ships in hyperspace seemed to make some type of warp ripples, which were visible from much farther away to sensors.

As such, the Terrans had plenty of time to prepare. The fleet around the world had been strengthened, and more reinforcements were already en route. Already the force present was up to more than thirty capitol ships, an armada by Terran standards.

Titans, Behemoths, Bears, and several Mythos carriers were all there. Two full squadrons of Vikings had even been procured, quite a rarity.

Then there was the Admiral himself. He was no ordinary man. He was not young (was there ever an admiral who was?), one could see that he was past his prime. Yet, at the same time, he was not an old man. He looked to be only in his early forties. He was clean-shaven, as he had been in his younger days as a captain. His attire could only be described as…well…"very military" to say the least.

With Shili being not only the closest US territory to Republic, but also the most unstable, it was understandable that this man would be chosen for the job of defending it. He was a decorated officer, a loyal admiral, a good man.

_Ya know, someday you're gonna end up leadin' this bunch'a misfits._

Admiral Matthew Horner snorted, the many medals and decorations on his military vest jingled lightly with the action as he gazed around his bridge.

Compared to the command centre of a Republic cruiser, a Titan-class battlecruiser had a very small command area. Then again, not as many crew members were needed, thanks to the ship's adjutant at its core.

A warped sound reached the admiral's ears from behind him, followed by a metal clinking sound.

"You know, Sabrina, you don't need to be stealthy before the fighting even starts," Horner said with a sigh.

"Hm, I could," a female voice responded, accompanied by a rich accent. "But that wouldn't be any fun."

Matt turned around with a grimace. Sure, he liked Sabrina. For a Spectre, she was pretty stable, and not nearly as sadistic as the others. Her loyalty was above average, quite a feat, considering that "average" for a Spectre bordered on "fanatical" for normal people. But the thing was, she reminded him too much of Tosh. Maybe it was her accent.

Now that he was looking at her...yeah, it was not the accent. No, it was definitely the eyes.

Like all Spectres, her eyes were primarily a milky white, though her irises were a slightly darker gray. But that wasn't it. Her eyes had something there, some profoundly disturbing quality about them, much like Tosh did. Even all these years later, a small part of Horner regretted helping Gabriel, even if it did contribute to the eventual victory against the Dominion. Although, he had to admit, at least Spectres were trustworthy; the same could not be said for Ghosts.

Of course, more obvious details made Sabrina reminiscent of Tosh. Particularly her skin color and accent.

The Spectre continued to twirl her three-part knife in her hand.

"You should also be planetside by now," the admiral admonished, folding his arms.

Sabrina shrugged again. "Should I really?" Her gaze grew flinty by a degree. "You know that the Republic loves their boarding actions." Her accent began to thicken as she finished. It seemed to do that a lot, as though she was trying to suppress it, but grew lax at times. That couldn't be the case. Spectres never grew lax with anything…ever.

The young admiral had also noticed her unnerving care for his safety.

_Why do I always attract the crazy ones?_ He thought privately.

The Jamaican-esque woman smirked. "We're all crazy in our own way, Matthew."

How did she…oh…

The admiral grimaced briefly, but quickly hid the expression. Several of the bridge crew were starting to stare, especially when they heard Sabrina refer to him by his first name.

"U-uh…" Damn his awkwardness! "Fine, you can stay on board. There's no time to get you down there anyway. Just…make yourself scarce until I need you."

Sabrina smiled in her own way and did a mock bow.

"As you wish, Admiral," she stated simply. As she said it, her helmet slid from its hiding place on her back, soon covering her face with an emotionless skull of neo-fiber and steel. With a flash of red and another warping sound, she disappeared.

Believing himself safe, Admiral Horner winced and turned back to the window. If it had been any other soldier, he would have berated them for being so...casual. But Spectres were "unique" cases, to say the very least.

"_Admiral,_" an emotionless voice stated from the star map console. "_The Republic fleet will arrive shortly. I am unable to provide an exact ETA._"

Unwittingly, the man entered his "battle stance." His shoulders squared, his feet parted to exactly shoulder length, and his expression became stern, yet also calm.

"Very well, Adjutant," he said crisply. The command crew all tensed. They knew that it was all business from this point forward.

"Standard procedure," Matt continued, speaking to the Adjutant, as well as everyone else present. "Bring all vessels to red alert, ground forces to yellow. Begin preliminary charging on all ship-borne Yamato cannons. Have all Bismarck batteries on standby. All carriers scramble fighters. Triple check escape jump coordinates, just in case."

The bridge became a flurry of activity as they scrambled to follow his orders with a chorus of "yessir"s. The overhead lights dulled to red and klaxons reigned across the ship, as they were undoubtedly doing on every other ship in the fleet. A trio of fighters (a Spirit and two Wraiths) flew just past the bridge, their Wyvern boosters roaring silently in the empty void.

Miles ahead of them, space churned and belched forth a mighty flotilla.

* * *

A triad of Eta-2 fighters roared silently by the bridge of the _Dusk Angel_.

Padawan Ashoka Tano gazed forward with hard eyes and white knuckles as she gripped the controls. She looked out at the ugly, curveless ships of the United Systems. They would pay for taking her world. It _would_ be taken back, there was no alternative, no other outcome. Her world _would_ be freed again.

The comforting chatter of her squadron sounded into the comm as ARC-170s began to form up around the jedi fighters. Hundreds of heavy recon fighters, V-wings, and Y-wings surrounded her like a hive of buzzing bees. Compared to the miniscule Terran fleet's pitiful complement of fighters...well, there just was no comparison.

"This is not good," her master's voice said.

"Not good?" Ashoka scoffed. "Master, what do you mean? This'll be a cakewalk!"

"He is right, Ashoka," another, older voice said. The lightest touch of a Shilian accent could be heard on his words. It was Master Woeak Taan, a Togrutan jedi like herself.

"This will be no cakewalk," the older jedi continued. "The Systems took our world with a force barely half this size. We must be cautious, a Rancor is far more dangerous cornered than on the hunt. I fear we have not seen all of the Terrans' tricks."

The younger Togruta pursed her lips. So? Surely there couldn't be much that these guys could do with so little...right?

"Stay close, Snips," Skywalker admonished. "You know our mission."

"Yes, master," she answered simply. She knew the plan. Ashoka and Master Taan would accompany the assault squadrons, since they obviously knew the planet better than anyone else. Her master would handle the air battle with Admiral Yularen.

Between the air and land battles, and the clunky, slow tech that the Terrans had, this would be easy, right?...

Then why was she getting such a bad feeling about this?

* * *

"Rapier 12, checking in."

The pilot stayed silent for the moment. Normally, he was anything but quiet, but right now...he was getting in the zone. That and the sight of all those Republic fighters was more than a little unnerving.

"Echo 5, ready for battle."

He wasn't too worried. After all, Vikings were the top craft in all of the United Systems, and the pilot had graduated at the top of the class. He was long past being a "cherry." No, he was a veteran, the best there was.

"Angel 3, present and accounted for."

"Chief 7, at the ready."

"Riker 9, primed and ready."

Well, now or never.

The pilot spoke.

"This is Mobius 1, ready to plunder."

Everyone responded with their proper system checks. Suddenly, a dull whine sounded in the pilot's ears. Several confirmations of missile tone sounded through the Viking pilot's helmet. His expression unseen underneath his golden, opaque visor, the pilot flicked open the missile launch cover and readied his thumb over it.

"Well girls and boys, time to kick ass and chew bubble gum."

He pressed the button.

* * *

"Sir, the enemy is in Yamato range!"

Admiral Horner allowed himself the smallest of smirks.

_Never know what hit 'em._

"Then by all means," he said simply. "Open fire."

With those words, the Terran fleet turned into a flotilla of stars.


	3. Storm over Shili

_A/N: here's the next chapter. Thank you starspawn07 for beta reading._

_At the suggestion of my beta reader, here are the ship dimensions and weapons for both sides. This should make it easier to visualize the battle. I will include the United Systems' Ambassador-class and Loki-class battlecruisers in this, but there are none present in this chapter._

Republic

_Venator-class Star Destroyer- 1,137 meters in length. Armaments- 8 heavy turbolaser turrets, 2 medium dual turbolaser cannons, 52 point-defense laser cannons, 4 heavy proton torpedo tubes._

_Acclamator I-class Assault Ship__- 752 meters in length. 12 quad laser turrets. 24 point-defense turbolasers, concussion missiles._

_Acclamator II-class Assault Ship__- 752 meters in length. 4 heavy turbolaser turrets (as well as the Acclamator I's armaments._

_Imperial-class Star Destroyer__- 1,600 meters in length. 6 dual heavy turbolaser turrets. 2 dual heavy ion cannons, 2 quad heavy turbolaser turrets, 3 triple medium turbolaser turrets, 60 light turbolasers, 60 light ion cannons._

United Systems

_Behemoth II-class Support Cruiser__- 850 meters in length. 12 twin-linked medium laser cannons. 8 heavy burst laser turrets, 6 point-defense Penetrator "Spyke" cannons. Type X Lunar-class Yamato cannon, 4 plasma torpedo tubes._

_Bear Missile Frigate__- 123 meters in length. 2 light burst laser turrets, 6 plasma torpedo tubes, 4 Harbringer-type heavy missile pods._

_Titan-class Battlecruiser__- 990 meters in length. 24 twin-linked medium laser cannons, 12 heavy burst laser turrets, 6 triple heavy burst laser turrets, 14 point-defense Penetrator "Spyke" cannons, Type VII Solar-class Yamato cannon, 4 Evicerator-type missile pods, Type IV Defensive Matrix._

_Mythos-class Siege Carrier__- 1, 100 meters in length. 150 "Gremlin" type robotic interceptors (since these are technically its main weapon), 20 point-defense Penetrator "Spyke" cannons, 12 twin-linked light laser cannons, Type VII Solar-class Yamato cannon, Type IV Defensive Matrix._

_Ambassador-class Atmospheric Support Carrier__- 862 meters in length. 24 twin-linked medium laser cannons, 4 dual heavy burst lasers, 8 point-defense Penetrator "Spyke" cannons, 2 Harbringer-type heavy missile pods, Type VII Solar-class Yamato cannon, Type IV Defensive Matrix, multiple nuclear warheads._

_Loki-class Heavy Battlecruiser__- 1, 265 meters in length. 8 triple heavy burst laser turrets, 18 point-defense Penetrator "Spyke" cannons, 26 dual medium laser cannons, 8 twin-linked medium laser cannons, 2 Armageddon plasma cannons, 4 plasma torpedo tubes, 4 Evicerator-type missile pods, Type IV Defensive Matrix._

_Now that's done with, on with the story, I say!_

* * *

"_Damn, Jimmy. You've been holding out on me."_

Tychus Findlay remarking on Raynor's flagship, the _Hyperion_.

Phantoms of the Present

Chapter 2

Storm over Shili

The Yamato cannon; the single most advanced weapon in the Terran arsenal, and it likely always would be.

It was a weapon of unimaginable power, a sphere that contained enough energy to tear a pie slice out of a star. The science behind it was just barely understood by even the brightest US scientists. Even in the old days of the original Behemoth-class battlecruiser, when you requested air support, everyone knew what you really wanted; the Yamato cannons.

Terran armor has always been known to be extremely hard to pierce, even to their own weapons. The Yamato was designed to combat that. Even with a weapon of this magnitude, however, a lucky battlecruiser could withstand three shots from these. Titan-class battlecruisers were even more resilient, courtesy of regenerative bio-steel. Protoss vessels were found to be weaker than normal to the Yamato, as the high concentrations of plasma degraded their shields far faster than their armor.

Obviously, the Republic were far behind the Protoss when it came to shield strength, nor did they have the advantage of advanced armor to accompany it.

The first salvo alone from the United Systems fleet would turn into a slaughter.

* * *

**Republic Fleet**

**Flagship Argent Dawn**

"Sir, there's a massive energy spike coming from the enemy fleet!"

The cry came from the tactical station on the bridge. As if it was needed, as the clone found out the moment he looked up from his console.

Admiral Yularen's mouth was hanging slack as he gazed through the _Argent Dawn_'s main view screen.

A great sphere of golden energy was steadily growing at the bow of nearly each and every one of the Terran ships. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what they were going to do.

"All ships, take evasive action!" He roared.

* * *

Like a pod of great, lumbering whales, the Republic ships began to split apart, desperately trying to escape their coming fate.

It was no use.

The void surrounding the Terran fleet began to cackle with glee as bolts of excess plasma arched through it. The screaming that echoed through the power conduits on each ship, flowing through them to the "eye" on the bow, began to reach a crescendo.

For a moment, the void quieted. Everything seemed to be in stasis.

Then the chains were broken, and the hounds of war raged forth.

The titanic shock absorbers on the "neck" of each battlecruiser groaned in agony as the ginourmous force of the Yamato was force-fed to them. Each ship seemed to crumple from the middle momentarily, before slowly becoming normal again.

Meanwhile, the teardrop shaped plasma rounds roared out into no man's land. The arrowhead shapes of the Republic fleet were facing every which way, desperately trying to evade.

All to no avail.

The first round struck the bow of an Imperial-class ship that had too little room to evade properly.

The great shields of the vessel held for less than a second before the concentrated force that rivaled the sun rammed into metal.

The metal did not melt. It did not tear. Nor was it punctured or burned. The vast, seemingly impenetrable armor just…disappeared. The shot continued unhindered through the entirety of the vessel, searing the entire vessel in half. The two slowly spun in opposite directions as explosions spotted their surfaces.

That was only the first shot.

About thirty other spheres of plasma and energy had yet to hit. Seeing the danger speeding toward them, fighters and bombers swerved toward the fleet's perimeter with shouts of dismay and shock. They were supposed to defend the fleet, but there was nothing they could do against weapons like this!

Not all of the Yamatos hit their mark. However, each one did damage at the very least. The fleet was simply too close together for any of them to miss completely. In many cases, a single bolt hit multiple vessels, passing through one and moving right on to the next.

In every case, the ships that suffered direct hits were outright destroyed, leaving little more than floating halves, sometimes not even that.

Then came the second blow. A small pod of Ripwave Missiles screamed into the scattered fighters, exploding into sub-atomic pieces. These peppered the formations, tearing holes into the light frames used by fighters and bombers alike. Then another wave struck…and another…

In the aftermath of the barrage, the fleet was left out of formation in a field of its own debris. The Republic ships struggled to get back into formation as fighters strained to recover and surge forward. Meanwhile, the Terran ships had not budged an inch, except to point themselves straight again after taking aim with their Yamato cannons. Even the Wraiths, Spirits, and Bears remained still. Only the score of Vikings was in motion, weaving their way back into formation.

In low orbit behind the fleet, mechanical monstrosities were roused from their slumber.

* * *

_Gods and Demons above and below! _

It didn't matter that Anakin had been present for the first battle of Shili, to see such a display of power a second time put a jolt of shock through him.

Anakin's bright yellow Eta-2 fighter bucked in his grip as he attempted to reign in the craft and direct it back to its current course.

Reports were shouted into his ears by ragged voices, which had been so confident of a Republic victory moments before.

"Stay on course!" Anakin ordered. "We need to find the flagship so we can end this, quick and easy."

That was the goal of the jedi's squadron: find the flagship, capture or kill the fleet's commanding officer, and end the battle before it begins.

The fear from the surrounding clones was easily felt through the force. As was it from another source, his padawan.

No, there was no time. There was a battle to be fought. It was now kill…or be killed.

The small, buzzing hive of Terran fighters approached, their shining, black carapace bedecked in blue appeared almost gold in the waning light of Shili's afternoon sun.

That's when that feeling hit him again, that feeling of utter…void that he had felt during the first fight. Was it the Dark Side? Were these Terrans a part of the Sith's plans after all? No, it was not dark, it was just…empty…not dark or light, but void of anything at all.

That was when Anakin realized it. He could not feel the Terran pilots in the force. There was no flicker, no light or dark, just…nothing…

"Sir, another energy spike! This one's from low orbit!"

* * *

The Terrans were hardly blind to the Yamato's effectiveness. They also noted the lack of purely defensive orbital stations. Space Platforms were useful, but were simply too concentrated to properly defend a whole planet.

So the Bismarck had been born.

Being little more than an automated targeting system, sublight engines, and a specialized Yamato cannon, it was by no means the most beautiful thing that the United Systems made use of, but there was one fact that could not be denied about it.

It was pretty damn effective.

Within the station's armored frame lay twin Titan reactors, both split between powering the engines, bio-steel, and its main weapon. But this was no normal Yamato, this was a Type-XIX Ark-class cannon. Not only could the weapon fire with all the fire and fury of a Yamato, but it could switch to a "grapeshot" mode, where it acted like a huge shotgun.

However, for now, the normal mode was needed.

"Admiral, the enemy is within Bismarck range. All cannons are prepared to fire."

Horner's eyes flicked from target to target on the viewscreen, then to the blips on the tactical layout on the star map.

The young admiral faced the young man at the comms station.

"Put them on autopilot. Order all ships into Beta attack formation after the first salvo, understood?"

"Yessir," the man replied.

The Admiral allowed a small smile to invade his otherwise stoic demeanor as the triangular blips on the star map began shifting and glowing brighter, each choosing its own target. He couldn't help but think of the Protoss Immortals' favorite phrase.

"_Let darkness be parted."_

What better way to part the darkness than with the sun?

Horner did not have to wait long, yellowish orange bolts swung by, screaming silently toward the Republic fleet. With his orders already in place, there was nothing more that he needed to say. The fleet began to move of its own accord even as Republic ships were wrenched apart by pure heat and force.

* * *

Consciousness returned slowly to Yularen. It started as just blurs of color and warped shouts. Slowly, it cleared into the tanned face of a clone.

"Admiral? Admiral! Are you alright, sir?" he shouted.

The Admiral waved him off with a wince and got up. "I'm fine. What's our status?"

Strange. Yularen had expected to awaken to a battered, smoldering bridge littered with broken bodies and scurrying medics. Instead, besides a few broken panels, it seemed none the worse for wear.

"It's not good, sir. Those energy shots took out a better fifth of the fleet, mostly our Venators. There were also two Imperial casualties, and four Acclamators. Our fighters have now engaged the enemy, but we're losing, bad. Those long range missiles they fired into our forces haven't helped."

Yularen pinched the bridge of his nose, only partially because of his massive headache. A fifth of the fleet…gone before they had even engaged the Terrans. The Admiral had just one more question.

"How did I get knocked out?"

The clone gave a humorless smile. "It was the energy shots, sir," he explained. "Magnetic turbulence hit the ship and knocked you off of the command deck. You hit your head on one of the consoles, sir."

Figures.

"Have we engaged the enemy-?" Yularen began. The ship rocked and thundered underneath him. That answered his question.

"Get me tactical," The Admiral ordered, still cradling his head lightly. But he still had a battle to fight.

* * *

The battle was far from being in the Republic's favor, despite their superior numbers. Their fighters proved no match for the Terran craft, and Venators began falling left and right.

That did not mean that the United Systems were not taking losses. But it did mean that they were winning nonetheless.

Winning or losing, Mobius 1 couldn't care less. He was in the zone, the zone that a Viking pilot had to be in to survive. The twisting metal of a Viking's variable geometry systems could easily kill a man who was less focused.

For Mobius 1, he was the Viking, and it was him. The wings were his arms, the thrusters were his legs, the missiles and gatling cannons were merely his fingers on the trigger of a gun.

No features could be seen on the pilot's face as a V-wing blew to pieces in a storm of subatomic fire from a trio of Ripwave Missiles. Maybe he smiled, maybe he didn't, it was impossible to tell.

The Viking was tough, but it was far from being the fastest, or the most maneuverable fighter in the US fleet. Nonetheless, in the hands of a graduate of the Valhalla Corps, it was deadly.

Mobius 1 shuddered as he felt laser bolts slam the blast plating at the rear of his ship. The HUD in his helmet immediately identified the fighter behind him. It didn't identify it by name, neither he nor the ship knew it, but after only a handful of seconds, the name was irrelevant anyway. The pilot had figured out the weakness of the ARC-170, and that was all that mattered.

Halving his ship's main thrusters, he began to initialize the Viking's transformation process, but halted it less than a second after it began. His hands moving like clockwork, Mobius 1 altered his main engines, arching them "down" in relation to his fighter. In response, the ship spun in the empty void to face the heavy fighter and slowed down.

The clone pilot and gunner in the Republic ship hadn't expected this. It was the Aggressive Reconnaissance fighter's main weakness; proximity. The heavy blaster cannons it wielded could only rotate but so much, and as close as the Viking was, concussion missiles were out of the question.

Vikings had no such inhibitions.

Mobius 1 ignored the startled faces of the clone pilots and mashed the lower trigger on the controls. Flaps swung open on either side of his ship's cockpit, revealing the fighter's multi-barreled gatling cannons.

The ARC-170 was torn apart in a storm of spike rounds. Tin foil-like metal and splats of blood burst into the airless space around it.

With stiff, robotic motions, The Viking's armor shifted as it righted itself and sped off toward the battle once again. There was a war to be fought, and Vikings were always at the center of it.

The pilot's lips curled into an unseen smirk.

"Fortune favors the bold."

* * *

Ashoka's demeanor had changed drastically in the last few minutes. Her master had been right…again…Terran warships and fighters were not pushovers by any means.

But that was not all. No matter what she tried, she could not _feel_ the Terrans. It was like they just...didn't exist...But that notion was thrown out the window the moment her Eta-2 interceptor's side was holed by a passing tracer. The Terrans were real, obviously, but they weren't connected to the force. How was that possible? The force existed in all things! Maybe it was less present in some beings and places, but it was still there.

No, this was not the time, nor the place, to think about this. It was fight or die, now. Added to that was her mission. The V-wings that escorted her were to aid in making way for the Acclamators and Venators to make planetfall.

The teenage Togruta gave a light snort, seeing an Acclamator I burst in to flames off to the side, its port side torn open by a battlecruiser's burst lasers. Survival itself was in doubt at the moment, let alone victory.

"_This is Chrome, somebody get this bogey off my six_!" a clone voice shouted. It was Chrome, one of Ashoka's squadron.

In the raging hailstorm of tracers, burst lasers, missiles, and blaster fire, her interceptor spun towards the source of the call.

"Chrome, I read you," the padawan said into her headset. "I'm on route, now." She could see the bogey...and it was no normal fighter.

It was larger and thicker than the others. Gigantic missile racks stood out in high relief on its back. Equally large thrusters drove the massive thing at a respectable speed. Ashoka knew better than to trust its bulky, unwieldy appearance.

"_Negative, sir_," another, calmer voice said. "_I'm on him now._"

An ARC-170 settled in behind the strange fighter, striking the rear of the craft with its heavy blaster cannons.

What the? Ashoka had seen armored CIS bombers crumple from an Aggressive Reconnaissance fighters potent ordinance. But this fighter? The extent of the damage it received were mild burns!

Suddenly, the whole thing began to shift. Armor that seemed stationary a second ago changed shape, as though it was about to fall apart. Two of its four thrusters suddenly shifted their facing, swiftly turning the craft.

Just before it turned around, three missiles screamed from its overhead rack and shredded Chrome's fighter. He didn't even get the chance to scream.

Then the fighter slowed its speed drastically, coming practically nose-to-nose with the clone craft. Twin flaps opened up underneath the missile racks.

"_Wha-?_"

That was all the clone pilot had a chance to say. His fighter, body, and copilots were engulfed by a storm of yellow tracers. Soon nothing was left but scrap pieces and wiring floating weightlessly.

The jedi's sharp, almost vampiric teeth gritted together. She was getting tired of this. Soldiers were dying needlessly against single opponents, _her_ soldiers!

With a yell, she mashed the firing stud on the controls of her fighter. Red blaster bolts shot from the wings of the craft and struck at the cursed fighter.

The fighter did something that she did not expect. It _dodged_. The bulky, unwieldy looking fighter spun in a corkscrew motion and sidestepped all of the shots in the burst. Without even a momentary lapse, it immediately spun around and raged forward, completely ignoring her, instead going after a Y-wing as it was making a pass on a smaller, blocky Terran ship, which was in turn unleashing a torrent of red projectiles on an Imperial-class ship.

Ashoka snarled and prepared to go after it, but something caught her attention. The chase had led her a ways away from the thick of the battle. She had compared the Terran formation to a buzzing hive before, but now she realized...that was _exactly_ what it looked like! Their fleet was a swirling mass, always rotating with each other (probably to avoid to much damage), all except for one ship...the ship at the center of the hive.

The Queen...or was it the King, in this case?

Ashoka lightly touched her headset.

"Master? I think I found the flagship."

* * *

Anakin blinked.

"You sure about this, Snips?" He asked warily.

"_Positive, master_," she immediately replied. "_It's kind of obvious._"

Anakin grimaced, that it was, at least from an objective viewpoint.

"Alright Snips, change of plans, you're coming with me."

"_What? But master!_"

"No 'buts,' Ashoka. I'll need you more than Master Taan will. He can handle the attack on the surface. But we'll be the ones in the thick of it on the ship. I need every hand I can get," Anakin said sternly.

_Who knows what they'll have in store for us_, Anaking added silently.

"_Yes, master,_" his padawan intoned with resignation.

"Right," her master said, switching his tone toward his squadron. "Echo squadron, form up. It looks like we've found the mothership."

* * *

As far as battles went, the Republic could have been better off...much better off.

The Terran armada and tactics were simply proving to be too much for them.

The Titans within the fleet would hammer away at groups of vessels with covering fire from nearby Bears and sporadic artillery shots from the further away Behemoths. When the strain on them became too much, they would begin to retreat, rotating in a circle, bringing a fresh ship into the fray. By the time the Titan rolled around again, most (if not all) of the damage was "healed" by their regenerative bio-steel. All the while, Gremlin fighters from carriers at the rear of the fleet and the Bismarck cannons swarmed and grapeshot-ed the enemy ships whenever the opportunity arose. The Terrans had a specific name for this tactic, used many times against the Dominion by Raynor's Raiders in the latter stages of their rebellion.

The Ahriman's Eye.

It had proven useful on many fronts, especially against the unadaptable Protoss. The Republic, like the Protoss, had a rigid structure for battle, with their ships remaining in neat formations throughout the fight. All this did was provide easy targets for Yamatos and Bismarcks. The smaller Acclamators were utterly defenseless against Gremlins. Eventually, the Republic began to understand that the carriers needed to be neutralized for the fighters to stop coming, but that required them to barge their way through an oscillating wall of battlecruisers, brave the constant long-range missile, plasma torpedo, and Yamato fire of Behemoths, and survive the constant swarming of carrier craft.

It was simply beyond their ability. The fact that they could not neutralize it also meant that their assault ships would be forced to land under this withering wall of fire.

Yularen knew already that it would be a disaster.

As he watched the Acclamators and Venators of the assault force separate from the fleet, many of them with burns and punctures in their armored hides, he knew that many, many of those clones would never make it to Shili's surface.

"Have all available fighters form a covering force," the Admiral commanded. Then he hesitated.

"How...how many of the planned covering force do we have left?" he asked tentatively.

A clone officer talked into his headset, waited a moment, and turned to the Admiral with a haunted look in his eyes.

"Only-...only two of the five wings have checked in, sir."

The Admiral cursed and slammed his fist onto the top of a nearby command console. Two of the five wings were available to provide cover fire, it was worse than he thought! He had known that there would be losses...but this?

The battle had only recently begun, but the whole thing had already gone to hell...

* * *

The girder groaned underneath the Spectre. A gloved hand caressed it, as though soothing the great vessel.

Sabrina waited in the girders of the main hangar. For what? Only she knew. She gazed at the object in her hand.

Like nearly all Spectres, Sabrina was exceedingly proficient with the bailisong knife. Like the others as well, she had customized the one she was given to suit her own personality. The two-part hilt of the weapon held no decorations but a golden hue. It was the shape that gave it character.

The shape of a cross.

The reasons why she had chosen such a design were unfathomable to anyone but another Spectre, and no normal soldier had the courage to ask why she had chosen it. Some thought it was that she was religious. Perhaps that was true, perhaps not. One would never know.

An irritated spirit jabbed at her mind.

_Patience, Wayland. Wait a little longer. _She admonished mentally. The red conduits of her suit grew brighter as she drew on its power to transmit her thoughts across such a long distance.

_Patience?_ An annoyed voice responded. _Wait? I'm tired of waiting. I want in on the fight. I should be up there with you._

The female Spectre gave a small smile. _You know that Horner would not have tolerated that. Relax, the fight will come to you soon enough_.

The smile faded somewhat. _Besides, I did not stay here to be a part of the fight sooner, rather than later. I am here to protect the Admiral. The Republic are going to try something, I can feel it._

_Oh?_ the male Spectre responded back in a lighter tone. _It sounds more like you have it hots for him to me._

Though nothing changed visibly about her, Sabrina sent Wayland a psychic jab. Certainly not hard enough to hurt him, but he got the message. His mind receded from her's.

Now it was back to...wait...

The Spectre's milky white eyes narrowed. So her hunch had been correct, after all.

Red flashed around her as she began to disappear. The last thing about her that was visible was the twirling of her cross-shaped knife.

The fight had come to her.


	4. Infiltration Above Shili

"_Even an army couldn't get you in there, but one man...one _Spectre_ in the right place..."_

Gabriel Tosh, rumored to be the first subject of Project Shadowblade, and thus the first Spectre.

Phantoms of the Present

Chapter 3

Infiltration above Shili

Even though Mobius 1was fully immersed into his identity as a Viking, he began to grow bored.

That in of itself was incredible. The "sky" teemed with fighter craft trading blows with one another. Hundreds of Republic fighters were blown to pieces, as were dozens of Terran craft; equal losses considering their respective numbers. But despite the wild combat, not a single Viking of either squad had received more than superficial damage; a few burns here, some dents and tears there, maybe a few fried circuits and periphery systems shut down. Even as the pilot thought this, the damage was in the process of being healed.

For graduates of the Valhalla program, this was little more than a shooting gallery.

A current lull seemed to happen in the battle, as many of the fighters left the area, perhaps rushing to guard a ship under siege. Still, point-defense fire from nearby ships kept Mobius 1 from getting too comfortable.

Maybe he could do something about that...

"Squadron 5, come in," he declared over the radio.

"_Yeah, chief?_"

"_We're here._"

"_Something new, boss_?"

"Yeah, I got something new," Mobius 1 stated. "What do you boys say to a little raid?"

"_A raid, huh..._" wisecracking Echo 5 said. The pilot could hear the smile in his voice and knew what he would say next.

"_Sounds aggressive…I like it!_"

* * *

**General Anakin Skywalker's position**

**Central Area of the Terran "Ahriman's Eye" formation**

"I need some bomber cover over here, right now!" Anakin roared into his headset, barrel rolling and narrowly avoiding a spray of spike rounds from a nearby Titan. The jedi, his squadron of similar Eta-2s, and Ashoka were coming in hot towards what seemed to be the fleet's flagship, buried deep within their ranks, though it still got potshots off at Republic ships every once in a while.

"_No bomber support can be spared, General,_" Yularen replied in an even, but tense voice. "_They are all either occupied or dead._"

Anakin gave a curse and rolled wildly again, as the defensive turret began tracking him. Thankfully, the Eta-2s speed quickly brought him out of range.

Without being able to sense an iota of the Terrans' presence, he was forced to rely completely on his precognitive abilities, something that his padawan and many other jedi did easily, but not Anakin.

Meanwhile, the flagship loomed ahead. Anakin noticed two things about it. First, despite the fact that it was an ugly, blocky thing, it seemed to have a sort of almost...rough beauty to it.

The second thing he noticed was the twenty mechs crawling all over its surface.

He immediately thought back to the battle of Coruscant, where he and Obi-wan had stormed the CIS flagship and killed Count Douku, as well as General Greivous, as Palpatine was being hunted down on the planet below.

_I've seen this before... _Anakin thought wryly.

"_Master,_" Ashoka said warningly over the comm.

"I see 'em, Snips. Everybody stay frosty. This could get ugly real quick, but bypass the fighters and get to the hangar bays, no matter what." Anakin tensed his grip on the controls as the mechs shifted. They flexed their legs with massive mechanical muscles, launching themselves into the air. As they did, the gargantuan slug throwers at their sides lifted and disappeared as wings flung forward in their stead. The legs themselves also soon vanished, folding into the underbelly.

In less than a few seconds, a score of the large fighters, each larger than an ARC-170, were making their way towards the squadron at a respectable speed.

* * *

**United Systems Defense Fleet**

**Flagship **_**Hyperion Dawn**_

"Sir, guard Vikings are away."

They had seen the fighters coming, and Admiral Horner immediately knew what they were trying to do.

"Adjutant, bring the Matrix online, right now," he commanded.

"_Unable to comply_," the monotone voice responded. "_There is not yet a sufficient buildup of power to bring the Defensive Matrix online_."

_Wonderful_, he thought. Once activated, a Matrix shield actually took very little power to keep online, but bringing it online took immense quantities of energy.

Just when he thought it couldn't get worse, the robotic voice piped up again.

"_Warning, class-5 psionic waveforms detected_."

_Jedi_, he thought, his face becoming even more solemn. And of course it got worse. The _Hyperion Dawn_ had just disgorged a small flight of Gremlins that required emergency repairs, leaving the fighter bays wide open.

"Close the bay doors!" he ordered.

Outside, the squadron kept coming.

* * *

Anakin's squadron was approaching the ship from behind, allowing them easy access to the small bays just behind the ship's "neck." Though he didn't know it, the far older Leviathan-class battlecruiser possessed fighter bays on the backside of the ship's "head," which provided far more convenient access to the bridge for boarding parties.

How unfortunate for him that the design had been scrapped with the first Behemoth-class ship to be commissioned. Thick, metal doors began to slowly come together on from the top and bottom of the opening in the ship's side. Meanwhile, two more of the squadron was torn apart.

"Alpha, Omega, now!" Anakin roared.

Imediately, twin LAAT transports streaked from behind the fleet, completing their fake maneuver heading for the assault fleet on its way to the surface.

Two more Eta-2s were downed. The rest desperately gunned for the narrowing entrance.

Anakin's interceptor cleared the entrance...then Ashoka's...then another...and another...

Fighters continued to enter as the space closed by another few feet. An LAAT barely cleared the area, skidding against the sides. The second had its wings clipped by the heavy neo-steel doors. It crashed to the metal floor, killing the clones in the bubble-like pods on its sides, as well as injuring a few inside.

Then the doors closed, crunching an unfortunate interceptor and pulping the pilot inside. Several more crashed into the large bulkheads, not having enough time to swerve away. The rest desperately attempted to escape, but were cut down by AA fire.

Inside the small bay, the two jedi starfighters skidded across the smooth metal floor. The glassy tops of them popped off as Master and Padawan jumped out, their fighters fetching up against the walls of the bay. The rest of the fighters and a (now inoperable) LAAT transport skidded to a slow stop before the clone commandos disembarked. The other gunship lowered itself to the ground, allowing its cargo to leave. Within a minute, a squad and a half of Republic commandos stood at attention.

The jedi and clones looked around nervously. They had all been a part of boarding parties before, though they were on CIS ships. The utter lack of guards in the fighter bay seemed…disturbing at best.

After a moment, Anakin decided that the Terrans weren't sending anyone.

"Alright, boys, let's get moving."

* * *

Sabrina's vision swam in a mist of blue as she observed the intruders from her perch on the ceiling. She always hated that…aura that jedi produced. They could sense anything within it that had no protection, no matter how they hid.

Thankfully, the Terrans had long ago invested in armor and training capable of dissipating psionic senses.

The Spectre lowered her gauss rifle, pointing the business end at the Republic soldiers. Then she stopped, a plan coming to mind. Sabrina lightly touched the side of her skull-faced helmet, activating the comm system.

"Sergeant," she said in a near whisper. "Stay out of sight. This is what I will do…"

* * *

Anakin was beginning to get paranoid.

They had maneuvered through hallway after hallway, but hadn't come up against a single Terran soldier. Hallway after hallway, but they saw nothing.

The pattering of boots against metal stopped as the troops halted. Skywalker slowly scanned from left to right, holding his activated lightsaber in a tight grip.

They had entered a three-way hall, a triple fork.

Still the jedi sensed...nothing...

Anakin pursed his lips nervously, fiddling with his lightsaber and looking around. His troops were also ill at ease.

"All right men," he began. "We'll need to spli-"

He was interrupted by a mental scream, yelling for him to jump aside. Knowing to trust his force sense, Anakin leaped straight upward just in time. As he flipped head over heels, he saw a clone cleaved in half at the waist.

Immediately there was panic. Even as Anakin hit the ground, the clones and his padawan gave panicked shouts to one another as the ship lurched lightly, likely hit by Republic ordinance. The soldiers pointed their weapons about wildly even as another clone fell with a loud _crackle-snap_-_hiss_, sounding unnervingly like a twisted lightsaber.

Then the...whatever it was stopped pausing in-between attacks. One by one the clones fell, cloven open with cauterized wounds. Two were decapitated, one pierced through the forehead, another through the gut, yet another sliced in half vertically.

Then none were left...

Anakin gave a hard stare towards the empty air, temporarily ignoring his padawan's horrified look. His mental arrow pointed madly towards that spot.

In the midst of sliced, broken bodies, the air shimmered crimson, and a woman appeared.

She was unlike anything Anakin had ever seen, though he had heard of the deadly US Spectres. She wore a skull-faced helmet, though her long, braided hair flowed from the back. Her armor seemed thin, but Anakin knew better. The stuff was tougher than nearly anything that the Republic fielded. Though a large rifle was mounted on her back, she held a thin sword of crackling, blue metal.

Unknown to him, it was a Storm Katana, sometimes called the Lightning Blade. It was as tough as any lightsaber, but was made to mimic the armor-ignoring properties of Protoss warp blades. Over the gleaming Vanadium was a shimmering field of pure plasma, ready to cross blades with the two warriors standing before the Spectre.

She stood facing Anakin, with her back to Ashoka. Yet he still could not sense her!

The woman turned the hilt of her blade over in the palm of her hand.

"_Heh, clones,"_ she began in a thick accent that would have been reminiscent of Master Fisto if not for the disturbing quality that it held, further warbled by the helmet-borne comm. _"So fragile."_

She was...calm? After brutally killing every clone, she does nothing but make a comment about their "fragility"?

Before Anakin could act, Ashoka struck with a vicious yell, bringing a two-handed strike down towards the Spectre's back.

The blade struck naught but another blade.

* * *

Beneath her helmet, Sabrina's smile disappeared.

All of that anger in the blow, the Spectre could _feel_ it. She had so much anger, yet it remained bottled up! What kind of lives did these jedi lead?

"_You are angry,"_ she whispered harshly to the Togruta, who was panting and straining against the Storm Katana. _"Why do you hold it in? Let it out. Be strong, use the fuel that it gives you!"_

The padawan's eyes widened and she leaped back, allowing the Spectre to turn again and block the second saber aiming for her neck.

"You rely on anger," Anakin said in a semi-calm voice, weaving his lightsaber in blow after blow. "You rely on hatred, on emotion. You're no better than the Sith!"

"_Wrong,"_ Sabrina stated, continuing the deadly dance even as the Togruta joined once again. _"To feel emotion is to be alive."_

She thrust forward with a slight psionic push on her blade, making her two foes stumble.

For a moment, they stood, facing each other; the jedi in a crouch, the Spectre in a lax stance.

"_We Terrans actually _deal_ with our inner demons,"_ she stated emotionlessly. _"I release my anger, so I have none to let out."_

"_Here I am," _she continued. _"I, the one who lets go of emotion, have none to distract me. Yet you jedi, who so proudly claim control of your emotions, seethe with your anger. I can feel it scorching you from the inside out. I can see it rotting your mountainous fortress of control piece by piece."_

Sabrina casually entered her battle stance once more.

"_Continue the way you are, and you will snap. One way or another, you will lose to your demon, and become that which you hate the most."_

In a split second, she coiled like a spring and pounced forward, blade outstretched.

* * *

**In the midst of the Republic fleet**

Blast after blast of red flashed by Mobius 1's armored screen.

None of them gave any more than scorches.

Most Republic weapons were not "lasers" per se. Instead, many seemed to be powerful plasma and ion hybrid weaponry. This made it possible for the Vikings to easily dodge the incoming projectiles, which moved far slower than the speed of light.

It did not take a genius to figure out what the two Vikings were doing. The Venator that they were charging towards was beginning to close the long hangar doors along its spine.

The plan was simple: split up, bomb the shit out of everything on board the first ship you find, and look for another ship to board.

Just as the doors were close to sealed, the two heavy fighters entered the massive bays. Their wings folded behind them, becoming additional armor. The nose folded downward, becoming frontal Blast Plating, and metal encased the cockpits as hidden cameras along the hull activated. Gatling cannons extended downward as "arms," and the back-mounted missiles became shoulders.

The two mechs stomped through the blue field of the ship's port side hangar.

Amazing, the clones were so involved in their work that they hadn't noticed anything!

To the side, Mobius saw Echo revving up his cannons.

The whine of servos woke the crewmen their predicament. Startled, they looked up from their tasks, many with horror plastered on their faces.

Four gatling cannons unloaded into the crowd. Clones, both pilots and engineers, disappeared in splats of blood and viscera. Fighters became Swiss cheese as armor-piercing, explosive rounds burst through paper thin armor and circuitry.

Without a single blaster shot fired in return, the hangar bay was dead.

Even as the makeshift mechs stomped to the large door at the entrance of the bay, Echo 5 chuckled.

"_I just love a good raid."_

* * *

The Venator was about to die, but not without a fight.

It's shields were long gone, stripped away by the powerful turrets of a Titan battlecruiser. It was so aggravating! Despite how small it was, the damned thing just...would...not...die!

It endured broadside after broadside and bomb after bomb, yet it kept going. Every flak cannon on the port side of the ship was unleashed into the Terran ship's side, but to no avail. Y-wings desperately bombed the deceptively small beast, only to be shot down seconds later by its turrets.

Then, one by one, from the front of the ship, guns began to go silent.

Horror was the response. The crew began to learn at the lower levels of the ship that they had been boarded, and it was by something really, _really_ nasty. And it was going for what few weapons the vessel had left.

The gatling cannons roared and belched bullets and yellow flashes. Gun after gun toppled to the floor as its supports and crew alike were holed. Handheld blasters pattered against the Vikings, occasionally earning a short burst in their direction. A few clones tried to maneuver the flak guns to fire through the hallway, only to either be shot or be blocked by wreckage.

Then Mobius' helmet beeped a warning.

Missile lock.

The rocket lanced through the long, wide, tall hallway, crashing smack dab on Mobius' cockpit. The Viking stumbled back from the force, tripping over a girder and toppling. The girder caused another to shift, striking the second Viking and knocking it forward.

In their moment of victory, the clones cheered. But the relief was short-lived.

The tripped Viking flipped over, using its guns as supports to stand up. The second pushed upwards, knocking off the girder with a shrugged missile launcher.

The missile, which had been spot on and struck the cockpit, left only a crack in its wake.

The two squat mechs stood silently in front of the horrified crowd. Then a hissing emanated from them. It didn't take long to figure out what it was.

Missiles streaked from their shoulders, responding in kind and wreaking havoc on what few guns were left. Metal flew, crushing clones and guns alike. Explosions rippled everywhere, hitting conduits connected to other parts of the ship. But the fusillade did not stop. More bullets and rockets flew even as the mechs moved on through the hallways that they could navigate.

A part of the floor caved in, sending scraps of metal down into the bowels of the ship, severing control cables and crushing a secondary reactor, which was powering parts the ship until the main one cooled.

Immediately, half of engines overloaded from a sudden surge. Many of them blew completely, while one simply shut down. What was left gave the ship little maneuvering power.

Everywhere aboard the ship, lights flickered, then failed. Systems and consoles blew, and what little the vessel had left was reduced even further.

Even as explosions peppered the Venator, two solitary Vikings flew off.

* * *

**Surface of Shili**

**Forward Base ST-41**

**5****th**** Company Goliaths**

The world of plains and fields was eerily quiet.

Despite the battle that raged above, nothing showed in the afternoon sun. Of course, reports came in constantly, and the ground forces were alert for the coming Republic landing fleet.

The Terran forward outpost, positioned a little ways from the 'Umbrella Zone' (the area directly beneath the fighting ships), was garrisoned by multiple squads: Marauders, Marines, Hellions, a few Diamondbacks, and a Linebreaker tank. The air support was covered by two Companies of Goliaths.

In any other case, 5th Company was laughable in size, having only four Goliaths. However, they were not typical Goliaths.

They were this planet's Spartans, the specialty squad.

Skipper looked around boredly and stretched, causing his vehicle to mimic the action as best it could. His Goliath seemed normal, if not for the sensor arrays above it and that the chin-mounted gatling gun was replaced by a grenade launcher.

Scout stood beside him. His Goliath sported only one weapon per side. The left was covered by a massive Mech Autogun, while the other had a huge quadruple Longbolt missile launcher. He was the sniper of the group.

Then there was Earthquake. His Goliath seemed more like a mini Thor. Armor covered every inch of it. The four autocannons were replaced by gatling cannons, and the chin gun by a flamethrower, while twin-linked light autocannon turrets panned from side to side from the top of his Goliath's 'shoulders'.

Pyro seemed to be piloting less of a support walker and more of a walking arsenal. Guns of multiple calibers decorated his Goliath, as well as an assortment of missile types. Small auto-turrets stood out at every possible angle. He was ready for any fight, anywhere.

Which would be this fight, right now.

Skipper scanned the area slowly, noting the absence of Togruta that normally walked the village's streets. They had, of course, been ordered into Terran-built bomb shelters and a Command Center was flown in, now dominating the admittedly low skyline with its bulk and tall sensor dish.

"Enemy air units incoming!" Scout declared. Warnings blared in Skipper's cockpit as well.

"ETA?" Earthquake boomed through the comm.

Streaks began to descend from the sky.

"Right the hell now," Skipper admonished softly.

* * *

_A/N: 'Sup E'rebody!_

_I realize how long it's been since I posted a chapter. I welcome reviews, but please do not demand the next chapter. Fanfiction is a fun thing for me, not a priority, so chapters will sometimes fly several times a week, sometimes I'll be lucky to finish one per month. I have other things to deal with in real life. So please, no more PMs or reviews demanding chapters._

_In any case. Reviews are still welcome._


	5. Assault on Shili

Phantoms of the Present

Chapter 4

Assault on Shili

Aboard the flagship of the United Systems fleet, the Hyperion Dawn, a furious three-way duel raged between two forces; the Jedi and a single Spectre operative.

The air hissed as plasma blades passed through it, ending as a loud _clash_ when superheated material struck a blade of similar make. Even with all of Skywalker's skill and his padawan's support, he couldn't get past the Spectre's blade.

The jedi snarled and struck again, only to be blocked by Sabrina's sword. With a violent thrust, the knocked him off balance. She swung her leg out as she spun to block Ashoka's lightsaber, tripping Anakin and sending him to the ground.

Both of his legs flew out from under him, causing his body to land flush on the hard, neo-steel ground, narrowly avoiding cracking his head on it. As he regained his senses, standing, he heard a short yelp, then a body flew into him, knocking them both against the wall.

As they crumpled to the ground, the human and Togruta jedi quickly disentangled from each other, standing to see Sabrina standing calmly in front of them.

Her hand was glowing bright blue, as was her normally reddish armor.

Anakin's eyes widened. Though the air crackled from the power being gathered into the Spectre's palm, his force sense was silent, as it had been since the moment he was warned of her first strike against the clones. However, he knew what she was going to do.

In the same instant, both held up their hands, sending out waves of psychic energy. One was invisible, the other formed a psychedelic wave of blue energy. The two halted in the space between the foes, quickly becoming a stalemate.

The blue wave advanced, the humming of Force energy weakening, but then it rose in volume, and the psionic lash faltered. Anakin glanced over briefly, to see his padawan, face set in concentration, hands outstretched, pressing with every ounce of the force that she could muster.

Anakin's muscles were clenched, he gasped and heaved his breaths from the long fight, and his armor had been cut in several places, some close enough to burn the skin. Ashoka was in no better shape. Yet the Spectre was calm, relaxed, and seemed to even be holding back.

The jedi knew that the moment she went all out, the fight was going to be over. That is, if they could even last that long...

-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-

**Surface of Shili**

**Forward Base ST-41**

**5****th**** Company Goliaths**

The sky was ablaze. Fighters zoomed left, right, up, down, and several combinations of the four. Republic fighters were dropping like flies, unable to cope with the incredible amount of missiles being fired at them, not only from Skipper's outpost, but from the mobile bases on the rolling hills and plains nearby.

Terrans didn't put much stock in ground-based "dumb" projectiles.

Skipper gave a chuckle as he achieved a missile lock, launching all twelve missiles from his left pod, three per target. He spun his heavy walker as micro-fabricators in the mech manufactured more missiles, firing bursts of autocannon fire into the sky.

It was almost like a shooting gallery for his squad. Though a large number of large transports were reaching the ground, fighters, bombers, and LAAT transports were quickly having their numbers thinned. Longbolt missiles launched into the sky from ground based turrets, downing strike craft after strike craft. From the safety of bomb-proof bunkers, Marines and medics fired into the sky, magnetic rails along the firing ports accelerating the spikes fast enough to reach high-arcing aircraft, while the soldiers' built in hi-sec auto tracking systems gave them impeccable aim.

As Skipper launched more munitions, he stole quick glances to the nearby units at the garrison.

The Marauders, Marines, medics, and other vehicles stationed did nothing. The Marines' tracking systems could easily allow them to down low flying bombers, but they did not have the advantage of luxuriously supplied micro-fabricators, so they conserved their ammunition. All of the infantry gave occasional glances to the sky, only slightly concerned. The lone Linebreaker deployed in a cacophony of gears and servos between two village houses, blocking the road and readying to receive firing coordinates.

Despite the fighters dropping, the heavier Acclamators were receiving only superficial damage; protecting the armies they held inside.

Skipper gave a light curse as he saw a transport land just a mile or two away, dropping its ramp and deploying slow, awkward looking, yet heavily armored walkers and swarms of infantry in whitewashed armor. Other assault ships appeared as elongated dots as they landed much farther from his position, though the troops released from them were likely just as dangerous.

The squad commander had heard rumors of Republic artillery guns. "Slow," "sitting ducks," and "caterpillars" had all been used to describe it, but of those who were far enough away to be shot at, few were left to describe anything. A small outpost like this was an unlikely target, but several of the transports had landed on hills overlooking major bases and outposts. Lifting them off now was not a good move, since the Acclamators could use their guns to down any flying structures. They were already supporting their fighters, giving Terran pilots a hard time and even downing some.

"Alright, boys," Skipper shouted into the comm. "We've got boots on the ground. Once the big guns open up, they'll be heading right for us. Be ready for a bomber strike."

A chorus of 'yessir's went through the comm as the goliaths, both the Spartans and the regular company, positioned around the area, weaving their way through ground troops as Marines hurried to cover and Marauders steadied themselves. At the mouth of the village, a Hellion reversed into position, ready to gun it straight into the fight.

Skipper spoke again, this time to all of the troops.

"All troops in position?"

"_75__th__ Marine Platoon in position."_

"_3__rd__ Division Marauders, ready to rumble."_

"_5__th__ Mechanized Division, in position and ready, sir."_

"_12__th__ Company Goliaths, in position."_

As if on cue, another voice spoke, coming from the Orbital Command Center in a nearby city, Tel'van: outside of sight range and thus marginally safe.

"_This is Orbital Command. Sensor sweep complete, distributing coordinates. All fire bases confirm reception."_

The commander of the siege tank at the center of the village spoke up first.

"_Fire base ST-41. Roger, coordinates received, adjusting bearing."_

As the massive, rectangular barrel of the tank spun and lifted into the air, Skipper looked at his readout, having also received the firing solutions. The hologram showed them as a layover of the current enemy positions as confirmations from the fire bases rattled off. The Republic was smart in their plan of attack for the most part. Shili had few defensible positions aside from the occasional canyon or mountain, none of which were nearby. To make up for it, the assault ships had landed on the lowest ground that they could, normally a bad idea.

It was not a bad idea here. Zooming in on the display, Skipper could see the Acclamators turning their main guns. They had landed on low ground in order to use their weapons not only for anti-aircraft support, but also to lay down covering fire for their troops, keeping enemy positions suppressed as the ground forces moved across open ground. In addition, Terran munitions would have to fire downward. A large percentage would end up striking the ships, which would eventually wear out, but buy more time for troops to mobilize and artillery to fire.

Of course, the Republic had not counted on Terran artillery practice. The United Systems did not concentrate their artillery on specific positions, but scattered them throughout most of their bases, allowing them to fire on enemies from all directions.

They also had not accounted for smart shells. Plasma was only as accurate as the gun, making indirect plasma artillery, which the Republic made wide use of, sketchy at best. But solid shells equipped with limited AI could hunt down even the smallest, fastest targets.

The man couldn't help but smile. This was going to be a _blast._

The Republic made their move.

First, the weapons fire began. The Acclamators opened fire, raining red plasma on the Terran positions. Blue lines arched up into the sky, disappearing into the clouds, only to rain down again.

A hut exploded from a turbolaser bolt, flinging two Marines into the sky. One landed next to Skipper's walker. The man's formerly blue armor was broken, bent, burned, and smoking from the intense heat. Parts of the armor had been completely burned off, revealing the circuitry and machinery underneath. Through the broken visor, the Marine's face was a mask of pain.

He was injured, but alive. Skipper briefly scanned him before moving his Goliath, stepping over to a less visible position as Republic guns continued to fire and a medic ran to the injured soldier. The man had several broken ribs, a fractured arm and ankle, and severe burns on parts of his chest and stomach. Though severe, a few patches would fix the breaks, and his armor had most likely doused the burns in medical stims. He probably wouldn't die.

Then, at last, the signal came.

"_Coordinate reception confirmed, firing for effect."_

-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-

Jedi Master Whaek Taan looked over the battlefield with a wary eye. The Republic had begun its assault of any nearby US positions, raining down a hellstorm of covering fire as clones in LAAT transports, scout walkers, and speeder bikes began to close in. The much slower ATTE walkers shot as they walked, moving forward in a line so that they all faced the point they were firing at.

Where was the return fire?

His question answered when a chorus of loud, sharp reports echoed across the plains. These came all of a second before explosions began to pepper the advancing troops. The shells detonated in bright, white hot clouds of molten tungsten, incinerating several fighter tanks and hundreds of clones.

Master Taan gave a curse from his position within the ATTE that acted as his mobile command centre. Bodies flew and burned on the green-tinted holo table. Several Acclamators were already reporting damage, some to their guns, thereby reducing the support that they could supply. At the jedi's position, near a small village, two of the assault walkers went down. One was merely disabled, with two of its six legs destroyed. The other was a smoldering wreck, torn to pieces by a direct hit.

The jedi bared his shark-like teeth in a snarl.

"Commander!" he barked. "Pinpoint their artillery positions and disable them!"

"Trying sir," a clone in yellow armor said from nearby. "But it isn't coming from just one place. It's like every base on this planet has a cannon in it."

Taan closed his eyes and took several meditative breaths.

"Then close on the enemy," he said in a calmer voice. "Make them hit their own if they continue firing."

The jedi took a last glance at the battle before spinning towards the door to the command walker.

"You five," he commanded, pointing to a group of clones. "With me, I will join the main attack."

"General," The commander said cautiously. "I wouldn't advise that, their artillery is too-"

"Too slow to hit Lightning," Whaek Taan cut off the clone abruptly. "Get Lightning out there, _now_."

-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-

"Lightning" was the codename for a squad of Republic scout walkers, a codename so commonly used that it became useless for actual secrecy anymore, since the Confederacy had learned to recognize it.

The bottom dropped out of an AT-TE, carrying five scout walkers on it: four with clones, the fifth with a Togrutan jedi atop it.

Master Taan's expression became grim as he surveyed the battlefield. It seemed that the artillery was beginning to taper off as clones reached their designated points, likely within the Terran weapons' minimum range.

Now a frightening new sound accompanied the blaster fire. It was the harsh bark of Terran guns, a much more barbaric noise than the comparably tame Republic weapons.

The jedi's lightsaber activated with a _snap-hiss_.

"Now, men!" he yelled above the din. "Forward!"

-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-

This was almost like a turkey shoot.

A squad of clones died as armor-piercing shells tore apart the hut they hid in. The soldiers died in bloody, horrendous screams and splats of blood as the massive bullets disemboweled them.

Skipper wasn't paying attention. He was already refocused on the fighter tank hill-hopping over the horizon. The light hover vehicle blew apart as a missile hit square on the cockpit. Pyro emitted a cackle of glee as his twin-linked, Thermite-enhanced Hellbore pattern flamethrower cooked another squad. The unfortunate clones had their flesh burned away as their armor blackened, melted, and fused to their bones. Scout stood on a nearby hill. His Mech gun sniping Republic walkers that were much too far away to retaliate, while quickly moving away when they came in range.

Earthquake did...well...exactly what he did best. He destroyed everything.

Any infantry stupid enough to get in close, usually trying to latch a charge on the Goliath's legs, was fried by his flamethrower. Missiles destroyed several fast, open cockpit Goliath wannabes, easily seeking them out. Anti-tank shells tore into fortified positions, while his shoulder-mounted turrets took out any infantry unlucky enough to remain exposed.

This was the Spartans' job. As a forward artillery position, ST-41 was necessary but dangerously exposed. In a case like that, extra measures needed to be taken.

Spartans were those extra measures.

Suddenly, a clone's head exploded...and none of the Spartans had caused it.

With a flash of red, a figure jumped from the top of a hut, landing on the ground with inhuman grace before disappearing again. Skipper caught a glimpse of the figure bringing up a heavy canister rifle before his stealth module engaged.

There was a Spectre here...

-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-

Spectres were an enigma. Anyone with half a brain cell knew that. They could be calm, angry, sad, or happy on the outside, but feel something completely different on the inside.

Michael Wayland was the perfect example of that.

On the outside, he was muted. He spoke in monotone, showed only slight emotion, and seemed to have all the personality of a spent siege tank shell. On the inside, however, he was angry. Pure, blood red rage fueled each shot that he fired. Every canister shell struck its victim through the right eye, perfectly entering the pupil before detonating. His anger spilled out from his mind; invisible to most...

Except for one being...

At the edge of his mind, Wayland felt it. His skull-faced helmet spun to face his newfound adversary. As he did, his vision narrowed, shutting out the savannah, the battle, everything.

All he saw was the _jedi_.

The jedi's feeble mind was obviously repulsed by the overwhelming rage. It attempted to flee, but was ensnared by the invisible inferno of emotion. The alien spun wildly in the seat of his open, Goliath-like walker, barking unheard orders to the clones around him.

Then he looked straight at Wayland.

-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-

_Maimhurtkillrageburndie!_

Whaek Taan's head swam in a red haze.

_Diemaimkill!_

He had never felt sheer emotion like this. When the pervading presence first entered his mind, he had assumed that a sith had found its way to the battlefield...but he was wrong...

_Burnragekill!_

He shouted orders to his men, directing them towards the dangerous presence in the force. but couldn't hear his own voice over the din of the presence; a presence of sheer _hate_ and _anger_. It was like Darth Sideous all over again...but so much worse.

_ENOUGH!_

As though shocked by the sudden outburst, the presence halted its assault, though the dark shadow – darker even than the Dark Side – still created a suffocating blanket over Taan's senses. However, it was enough to let him focus again.

With a running leap, Whaek Taan's scout walker landed in the midst of three Terran troopers. With monumental curses through their external speakers, the armored beings attempted to bring up their rifles. However, even their servo-enhanced reflexes could not outdo a Jedi Master. Taan's lightsaber jabbed into one's arm, piercing the neo-steel and piercing flesh as blaster fire distracted the other two.

As the man screamed, dropped his massive rifle, and went to his knees, Whaek Taan jumped from his walker, somersaulting in the air and landing behind the blue-armored trooper. With a swift strike to the joint between the back of the helmet and the power pack, scorching through the man's spine, the Marine dropped to the dirt.

Taan had learned the hard way that Terrans had far tougher armor than the Republic. When Whaek Taan entered the first battle for Shili, which ended with a Republic retreat, he had attempted to slice a Marine in half...bad idea. Instead of cutting through the armor at the Marine's waist, the lightsaber only melted halfway through the layer of neo-steel, and became ensnared in the melted (but quickly hardening) remains. The jedi would have certainly lost his life that day, had it not been for Master Yoda.

As the squad gathered around him, awaiting orders, Taan stood still, his eyes unseeing. He could not sense the force with the dark cloud over it, but the invisible mist seemed to act like a river. It flowed outward, brushing by him from a central source. It would take time, but if he could find the source...

Something invisible hit the dirt, landing just to the left of the thrown lightsaber's trajectory. With a warbled sound and red flash, a figure in thin, black armor appeared, holding a large sniper rifle.

Bingo.

Snatching his lightsaber out of the air, Whaek Taan charged forward. His jedi training forced down any emotions he felt over the invasion of his mind.

But then the presence did something...disconcerting. It _smiled_.

As the jedi charged forward, the figure (his face still hidden) raised his hand. A small, compact cylinder was held in it, with the figure's thumb on one end. Before Master Taan's mind could truly register horror, the realization hit him. That mental attack wasn't to keep him from noticing the Spectre. No, it was to keep him from noticing another threat. Only when the cloud over the force lifted did Whaek Taan realize with horror what was hidden beneath him.

Wayland pressed the detonator.

Before Whaek Taan's broken body even hit the dirt, Wayland had crouched. He did so both to dodge the debris from the mine and to ready his canister rifle. The sole standing clone, yet to fully comprehend what just happened, was gunned down with a single shot through the right eye. His head exploded from the anti-personnel round.

The Spectre then got up and walked away, deciding to leave the remaining clones, injured and writhing from shrapnel wounds, alone.

Beneath the skull helmet's red eyepieces, a smile crept to his milky white eyes as he viewed the battle, which was quickly becoming rather one-sided as two landed Acclamators were torn to pieces by siege tank shells, their rediculously slow AT-TEs were ripped asunder by swarms of Marauder weapons, and entire regiments of clones were killed mercilessly by US Marines.

The sniper had done his job: remove the leadership. Oh, but he would still fight. He'd waited this long for action, and he'd milk every moment of it. But his main duty was done...now it was time to have some fun.

"They're living on borrowed time," he said to no one in particular. "...All of them..."

-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-

**United Systems Fleet**

**Flagship **_**Hyperion Dawn**_

The hallway was silent.

Only a moment before, it was the sight of a battle between wills, but a hopelessly lopsided one. A lone jedi, his padawan knocked out, sought desperately to outdo a much more powerful Spectre.

He had lost.

Sabrina stood over the two jedi, remaining still even as the ship rocked with occasional hits from its enemies. She could have easily killed them both...but they were too useful for that.

Unlike Wayland, she did not let bloodlust take control of her. She knew just how much larger the Republic was than the comparably tiny United Systems. Any advantage was welcome...and two jedi were certain to provide that.

"_Sabrina, what the hell is going on down there!"_

The anxious voice yelled over the comm.

"Nothing...at least, not anymore," she said in her typical smooth, calm, accented voice.

"Incidentally," she added. "You may want to clear a room or two for some new...guests..."

-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-

"Get us the _hell_ out of here!"

The battle was beyond cataclysmic, it was beyond devastating. It wasn't even a battle anymore. It was a failure. The _Dusk Angel_ alone was missing three of her engines from a Terran plasma shot grazing the rear, had 90% of her port side turrets unpowered from a reactor overload, and had lost an entire bank of sensors. Not a single ship left in the fleet fared much better. Only a handful of Acclamators and Venators remained. One of the Imperial-class destroyers was a total loss, and two others had little left but their engines, while another three were in the process of being scuttled; having been left intact but with no vital systems online. Only a handful of the fleet's fighters were still flying.

The Terrans...they just wouldn't die!

Somehow, ships that were deemed out of action, left to retreat, came back only a little later with much of their battle damage gone! Their carriers appeared to have an unending supply of fighters, and not a single artillery ship had been put out of action.

"But sir," a clone interrupted, ducking as the console above him blew out in a shower of sparks. "General Skywalker and General Taan are sti-"

"If we try to rescue them," Yularen said, his face hardening. "Then we all die."

He hated leaving them, he absolutely _hated_ it. But he couldn't mount a rescue in these conditions. It would only end with the destruction of what remained in the Republic's fleet.

"To all ships receiving," Yularen ordered through the comm in a bitter, defeated voice. "Break contact and retreat in a scatter pattern. Repeat, all ships break contact and retreat...We've lost this one, boys..."

-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-

_A/N: Hey, e'rybody!_

_I'm sorry about the wait, readers. My muse sorta farted out and died halfway through the chapter. Add that to a crapstorm of homework at the start of the year, and little free time during the summer, and you have the eternity that it took to write this, as well as the relatively crappy writing in the aforementioned chapter._

_Oh well. I'm a man with a plan when it comes to chapter four, so that should go a bit smoother._

_Well, until my next post..._

_(P.S.- Regarding the error in previous chapters. I realized that there's a bit of inconsistency in the name of Yularen's ship. It's name is the _Dusk Angel, _not the _Argent Dawn._)_


	6. First the Battle, Now the War v2

Phantoms of the Present

Chapter 5

First the Battle, Now the War

"Ah, hell, this isn't good news, is it?"

The hologram shook its head ruefully. "I don't know, admiral. Would you call a declaration of war against the Republic good or bad?"

The middle-aged admiral rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Both."

Without further ado, the transmission ended. The grizzled, tired veteran turned to the cadre of Admirals standing around him.

"What now, Admiral?" One, an older but lower ranked man asked. "We can't stand up to a whole galaxy. They could throw rocks at us and still take us down before we make a dent in their numbers!"

Horner gave a sigh. He was right. The Zerg were one thing. Plentiful as they were, they only infested one sector and they were "tamed" before they could truly begin to multiply. While the Republic was far weaker individually, they had many hundreds of thousands of millions more troops. The United Systems would be fighting a losing battle.

"There is one way," the young Admiral said after a moment. "There's one way we can have a prayer of winning, and we can base our entire grand strategy on it...but you're not going to like it...hell, I don't like it..."

The group leaned in a bit, morbidly curious. Horner closed his eyes briefly, his expression grave.

"The Republic might have more numbers than a Zerg Queen would no what to do with, but they take losses to heart. So that has to be our strategy...attrition...and this is how we're going to do it..."

* * *

**Galactic Republic**

**Coruscant, Galactic Capital**

**Great Jedi Temple**

"...and you're sure there was no word from any of them?"

"Positive, Master Windu."

The bald, black-skinned jedi closed his eyes pensively. "Thank you. You are dismissed, Admiral."

The hologram of Yularen bowed and disappeared. The council remained silent, looking to one another with apprehensive glances. Then, as one, they looked to Jedi Master Yoda.

"Do you sense anything, Master Yoda?" Windu asked quietly. "Are they still alive?"

The small green alien's ears drooped a bit as he shook his head.

"Nothing, I sense," he rasped. "Over the Force, a shroud hangs. Clouded, it is."

Another jedi nodded in agreement, his small bald head nodding on a slender, pale neck.

"I have sensed it as well," he said in the soft voice characteristic to his race. "But it does not appear to be the Dark Side."

"Dark, it is not," Yoda continued, his voice grave and face downcast. "_Void_, I sense. No light...and no dark…nothing…"

The council looked to one another, many were obviously troubled.

"This war is a mistake," a bearded, mustachioed jedi said. He looked somewhat human and could have passed for one if not for the numerous veins, oversized brain, and secondary heart that stuck out on his head.

"Indeed it is," Master Windu replied, rubbing his temples. "But we are committed to it, for better or worse." He looked to his comrades around him. "Chancellor Vei'la will want to know what position the jedi hold."

"They cannot expect us to continue our support," another jedi snapped. "We warned the Senate from the beginning, yet they still hold that the Terrans plan to overthrow the Republic!"

"Support the war, we will not," Yoda responded, holding up a hand to calm the other man down. "But _protect_ the Republic, we must." He turned to a green skinned jedi next to him. "Master Fisto. Go to the Senate, you will. Protect the Republic, the jedi shall, but take a larger part in this war, we will not."

The Council nodded in unison, agreeing with the wizened old Grand Master. Outside of their circle, though, another jedi, one not a part of the Council, stood. He stared into space, absentmindedly stroking his beard. Worry gnawed at him, mostly for his apprentice and the padawan he led. But he also sensed something else.

Every nation in existence had their own aura within the Force. It was directed by the will of the people. Their aura told volumes of the nation's overall purpose and intentions.

For decades, however, no jedi could sense any but two: Dark and Light. Now, however, a third had joined the stage.

The Void stood on the precipice of the Republic. Though the United Systems were small, the Void was anything but. Kenobi feared what he sensed.

From within that tiny, insignificant band of worlds, the hounds of the Void threatened to engulf all in their path.

* * *

**United Systems**

**Tarsonis, US Capital**

"**Admiralty" Fleet HQ**

"…Torrin, tell me you've got news on Umoja."

"Their fleet is fully mobilized. Planetside reinforcements are inbound, due to arrive in three hours."

The Admiralty was a flurry of activity. Minor officers ran back and forth, carrying papers and reports for the numerous commanders, generals, and admirals. The comms sets were full to the point of bleed-over into other channels.

"What's the status on Orrel?"

"His ground forces are mobilized, sir. They are ready to load up on your order."

A man stood at the center of the room, ruffling through papers and reports as he shouted out for updates. His vest was decorated with the sash of a Fleet Admiral.

"Any word from Horner?"

"Preliminary reconstruction on Shili is underway. Counterstrike reinforcements are en route, sir."

Abruptly, the final paper was put into its bin. The man slumped into his chair, exhausted. As Fleet Admiral of the HQ, logistics was his job…and it was a tiring one.

As the master of the US navy logistics, Admiral Khale knew just how unready the United Systems were for war, particularly one with an enemy as vast as the Republic. In the aftermath of the Hybrid War, twenty-five years was not nearly enough time to recover. Worlds like Umoja still bore the scars of planetary bombardment and conflict, and the Systems' infrastructure was only just beginning to reach a passable level of reconstruction. Even with superior technology and strategy, there was no way to win...except one.

_A war of attrition._

Normally, such a notion would have been folly against a nation as large as the Republic, but Khale saw the benefits of it. The war would not be won militarily, but it could be won politically.

The plan was simple: beat up on as much of the Republic as possible for as long as possible, until it reached the point that continuing the war became political suicide for Republic leaders. The best part was that it would be relatively easy to do.

The worst part was the inevitable toll on any attacked worlds. No one wanted to inflict nor recieve that many casualties. The plan in its entirety was one that no one wanted to implement, but the Republic left them no choice.

They had cornered the beast. Now they were going to pay the price.

* * *

The sun was setting: an apt backdrop for what was happening many dozens of worlds away.

A dim orange glow fell below the horizon of a distant, shadowed world as the Queen comtemplated the events of late. An Age was ending, and the dawn of a new, brighter age was coming. Yet between dusk and dawn still lay the long hours of night. When the sun dawned once more, would any be left to see it?

The Queen pondered this question, gazing towards the horizon as the last light of the setting dwarf star faded.

Regardless of the outcome of this war, the Swarm would be unaffected. So why should the Queen care? _They _had shunned her, hated her, and wanted nothing to do with her. Only the Hybrids had convinced _Them _to work with her. It was why the Queen had left in the first place. The Swarm needed a place to live, to grow, and to avoid another war.

The Zerg side of her wanted retribution for _their _hatred, but that was out of the question. The Human side had given her a better solution. Comprimise. Armistice. Leave...and never return.

_Never return...never return...never return..._

That last part repeated over and over again in her mind.

_Never return...never return..._

Why should she return? Why should she care? She would not harm them, but nor would she help them. Humans and Zerg had been at odds for too long. There could be no peace between them.

_Never return..._

Then she thought of _him_. The only one who believed in her from day one to the day she left. _His _face swirled through her mind.

_Never...return..._

Instantly, her resolve weakened and she became unsure once more.

Sarah Kerrigan lightly stroked the head plate of the Hydralisk at her side, causing it to utter a small purring noise. What should she do? What would _he _want her to do? Should she help them or ignore them? If the Swarm came to their aid, would they even accept it?

She pondered these things long into the night, but in the end was no closer to the answers she sought when the dwarf sun began to rise into the sky once more.

* * *

"Chancellor?"

"Yes, yes, what is it?"

"The jedi have given their answer."

"…And?"

"Well, sir, limited support is the most we can expect from them."

"Hmm, a pity. I suppose it is not too surprising, though...What is the status of our 'project'?"

"It is moving along as scheduled, Chancellor."

"Hmm…unfortunately, it seems we will have to move the schedule up somewhat. Accelerate the project. I have the feeling we will need it sooner rather than later."

"At once, Chancellor."

* * *

_A/N: It...LIVES!_

_That's right folks, after a long hiatus (not one that happened by choice, mind you), I'm back. Sorry to disappoint those who wanted a completely new chapter, but I just couldn't shake the feeling that the old version of this chapter just didn't have enough meat to it, so I started by adding to it._

_Chapter 6 is in the works as we speak, and while I can't promise a post tomorrow or the day after, I _can _promise that it'll be posted before the next six, three, or two months are up. ;)_

_As always, bring on the reads, reviews, comments, and questions._


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